Incidental Love
by SmileySara96
Summary: Rose Nymphadora Weasley: Klutz. Laughing Stock. Slytherin. Red hair, green house. I wouldn't have it any other way. But they don't call me Nymphadora 'cause it's catchy. I am prone to... incidents. Previously titled: Falling for Malfoy
1. The Potions Incident

**A/N: This is the FIRST FANFICTION I HAVE EVER UPLOADED! So I'm really unfarmiliar with the formatting and well, who am I kidding... everything. I have no CLUE what I'm doing. You wouldn't believe how long it took for me to figure out how to post this thing. Honestly. Much too long. I don't own Harry Potter... If you couldn't tell. But I do own this story, and I'd love some of your feedback! It's not going to grow out of control, I'll promise you that. More like 10 short chapters. MAYBE. But review and we'll see... **

I sit off in the corner of my bedroom, glaring daggers at the boy in my bed. Hey! Don't jump to conclusions, we aren't alone.

My mom and Aunt Ginny are cooing and fussing with him. Victoire, our resident Healer-in-Training, accompanied by Auntie Fleur are smothering him with experimental salves and with their weight of their medical credentials.

'And after I finish my internship then I think I'm going to specialize in pediatric healing, because… well…I think it'd be _so _much fun to dig Knuts and Chocolate Frog Cards out of ungrateful children's stomachs!' 'You 'ave 'eard of zee work I did in zee aftermath of zee second wizarding war? You 'aven't!? Vell… my contribution vas invaluable!"

Even my dad is seated on a stool near the head of the bed, placidly obeying the edicts aimed in his general direction while chatting animatedly with the _bane of my existence_.

My _dad_, _my dad_, the only ally _I have_ under these circumstances, the same dad who should be fuming and huffing, "Get that rotten Ferret out of my daughter's bed and out of this house!", was chatting up Malfoy.

"So… let me get this straight… you caught her, took a rogue bludger to the collarbone, _and _caught the snitch? All in one play!?" My father squeals like the little girl he becomes when Quidditch is involved.

"Yes sir, it all happened so quick; matter of seconds." Malfoy responds, smiling sweetly and then wincing slightly as Victoire pressed a saturated cloth to one of the many gaping cuts on his pasty body. I hope it stings, Malfoy.

"And you nearly crashed!" Dad says, awed.

"But I landed just right, not a scratch on Rose!" Malfoy exclaims, quite proud of himself. _Ugh, die, ferret scum. _Dad looks like he could burst with joy.

"See now Ronald, Albus' always telling you that Scorpius is a good boy!" Ginny says. I huff and tug my scarf up around my face. Uncle Harry walks in followed closely by his eldest son.

"So what about this play, now?" James inquires. He'd recently been drafted by some fancy-pants team Gods know where.

Lilly strolls in with a basin of steamy water and perches herself near Malfoy's feat, gazing languidly at him. Why oh why would you oogle such an ugly git, dear cousin?

Teddy squeezes through the doorway and puts an arm around his fiancé. Victoire smiles warmly at the boy with blue hair and he pecks her cheek. _Bleh._ Well… admittedly it _is _adorable.

"It was magnificent. I couldn't get to her in time, Albus n' Fred neither, she was too far out, but Scorp was there in a flash. Bad time to use the loo, James," Teddy exclaims all in one breath.

Molly, Lysander, Luna, Uncle George, Roxanne, Neville, Hagrid, his GIANT wife (no kidding), and all the rest squeeze into my room, which is the real miracle here, not some stupid Quidditch play and _supposed_ rescue by some stupid blond haired, grey-eyed, pasty freak!

I mean 'LET'S PAUSE CHRISTMAS, MALFOY HAS A STORY TO TELL'. Too bad we didn't catch it on film elsewise we could just watch his excellence on repeat from now till' New Years.

"It's not the first time this's happened neither, eh, Scorp?" Albus says slyly as he leans up against my dresser, ruffling his black hair. The 'super-studly' hair ruffle is combatted not two seconds after with a really nerdy glasses-adjustment.

"Oh yes, Scorpius is always doing amazing things on the Quidditch pitch!" Lilly gushes; Lilly's loyal side-kick *cough, cough*, I mean my cousin Molly nods feverently in agreement. Amazing things on the Quidditch pitch? Psh, heck yeah. Like snogging Sleazy Peony Brown and Fugly Pugly Parkinson at the same freaking time. Like a one on either side of his lips kinda deal.

"No I mean saving Rose's arse," Albus continues smiling widely. I shoot a couple thousand visual daggers at the twerp before turning my scathing gaze back to the King Git. He's blushing pink and shaking his head furiously.

"Really? You're keeping my little girl safe? Ah! I always liked him! Didn't I say that honey? Always liked him. Never thought you'd be like your dad. Gryffindor material. I figured from the first time I laid eyes on you that you and Rosie'd end up together. Right honey. Right?" Dad's blabbering to Mom.

Mom rolls her eyes. Malfoy's burning up. Dang that boy can blush. No wonder he fits in like a missing puzzle piece around here. He's a natural Weasley. I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror hanging above my dresser. Good _Merlin_ am I worse!

"It figures she'd fall for a Gryffindor! Fall! Haha! She really _fell_!" Dad doesn't know when to stop.

"She'd better marry a good Gryffindor boy like Scorpius. All those slimy Slytherin gits I'd catch her hanging all over in Hogwarts…" James mutters, trailing off.

"Sketchy characters- those boys," Hagrid mumbles.

Luna has this dreamy far-away look in her eyes and I know she's just dying to publish the details of Scorpius and I's _fictional_ betrothal in the next edition of the Quibbler. _Do it and you're gonna' have a lot more to worry about than Nargles, Luna. _

Half of the freaking school is present, so naturally I'm embarrassed to muteness. And Malfoy looks about the same.

"Treat her well, Scorp and you have my blessing."  
"What the _hell_ Dad!" I shout, finally finding my voice. What happened to demon-spawn-of-Malfoy. We are NOT calling him Scorp. And he does not need your blessing.

"Watch your mouth Rose!" Dad mutters half-heartedly.

"C'mon tell us what happened!"

"What about that sweater thing?"

"Rumor has it that Rose was shirtless in potions; I mean flashing the _whole_ class and good old Scorp here let her borrow his jumper." Hugo announces proudly. _I'm gonna kill you next Hugo. Look out little rat. _

"Bloody hell Rose!" Dad hollers turning on me.

"Oh my! It was my fault!" Hannah Longbottom confesses. She blushes. "I'm just so clumsy."

"No… it was definitely Roses' fault." Albus shrugs, "Elaborate Scorp."

"Al and I were walking into Double Potions…"'

If I'm going to relate this story. I'm going to do it _my _way.

This story stars in Double Potions, the bane of my existence. The only things that could compete with my awful cooking abilities are my brewing abilities. A sedulous studying regiment and constant vigilance- that's all that's keeping me from Trolling.

That's right powdered unicorn horn- I'm watching you, you little bastard.

"So I was thinking…" A voice begins. Albus Potter. Cousin. Chaser. Gryffindor.

"You want to crash that_ Slytherin_ party?" The face of _this _voice turns, a small smile tugging on the corner of his pale lips, and then he _winks_ at me.

He winks at me.

He _winked _at me?

_What the hell was that!?_

Constant vigilance out the window, I jerk my hand back, slamming it _hard_ against someone's Cauldron. A dull pain throbs through my fingers, and I let out a tiny gasp as black gunk splashes across my jumper.

Hannah Longbottom. Family friend. Hufflepuff. Is muttering a string of apologies and looks on the verge of tears.

"Its fine," I hiss, with a little more venom than necessary. It's not her fault, Rose, you're a total klutz. I feel like I'm on the verge of tears.

I look down and raise my hand, noncommittal. I'm expecting to see a soiled jumper, and instead I see the pale skin of my stomach peeking out at me. The potion is… eating my jumper? This potion is EATING my jumper!

And suddenly I don't _have_ a jumper anymore. And it wasn't because of the potion, which would have eaten through my skin, given the chance, but because _he_ flung it over my head.

Scorpius Malfoy, the bane of my existence. And now I'm in my bra. Heads turn. Girls gasp. A couple of those blasted Gryffindor boys wolf-whistle. Professor Fliggin nods solemnly.

'Good job Scorpius, very well done, it would have eaten through the epidermis and consumed her entrails…' he might say, the prat. I hate Professor Fliggin. I hate Potions. I hate Scorpius Malfoy. Heat floods my face and I scream.

"What the hell did you just do?" But it's him so I stand up and my foot catches on my chair leg and my head connects to the desk with a whack. I stumble back into my seat.

"Are you okay?" He asks weakly and I feel tears stinging my eyes. My scalp, my ears, my chest, all blisteringly warm. Damn that Weasley blush. A sob catches in my throat.

And then Scorpius Malfoy is taking off his own shirt. I stop my blubbering, because there are abs and they are on eye level.

His jumper caught on his white shirt and he struggles it loose and hands me a fistful of fabric. I tug it over my head, but only because Potions is in a dungeon and there's a heck of a draft… and I'm shirtless.

He smiles at me, not a smug smile or a toothy smile, just a little smile. But when Scorpius smiles, his gray eyes smile too. And no matter what anyone says, I didn't- DID NOT- smile back. Not even a little. At all. Okay maybe. But after such a traumatizing experience a smile like that can do you good. But my smile doesn't last.

Scorpius reclaims his seat next to his Potions partner, a tall, pasty boy, with gangly limbs and geeky glasses framing his green eyes. One of the Gryffindor chasers? Something like that. We may or may not be related. Malfoy turns around and gives me one last smile.

Chivalrous and brave, risking his own hands to save a woman, Professor Fliggin awards Scorpius fifty points to Gryffindor.

Scorpius Malfoy. Enemy. Seeker. Gryffindor.

That's my story, as of thus; just a little explanation of how I was thrown to the snakes- literally. Because apparently getting caught wearing a maroon jumper with 'Gryffindor Quidditch Team… Seeker" printed on it the day before the Gryffindor- Slytherin game is not smiled upon. Malfoy might as well have let the potion eat me.

Rose Weasley. Klutz. Laughing Stock. Slytherin.

Red hair, green house. Wouldn't have it any other way.

"And some of Hannah's potion had spilt. So I offered my jumper," Malfoy says simply. Everyone seems to find this pretty gosh-darn adorable.

"She sees us walking past and she flings Hannah's potion all over herself. She's too daft to do anything about it and she's going to die. Scorp saves the day. This man sacrificed a comfortable warmth for the whole day for a damsel in distress and how is he rewarded? _SHE CHARMS HIS JUMPER_! To this day the thing says: Scorpius Malfoy Gryffindork Chaser. _Honestly_."

"I didn't do that-"

"Word of mouth said she spilled those potions because Scorpius Malfoy winked at her!" Lilly chrips, all too happy to contribute. With her sleek raven hair and Weasley blue eyes she could probably snag Malfoy easy- that is, if she weren't so young, _so _obnoxious, and if I didn't kill her first.

"I didn't wink at anybody," Scorpius denies easily, but I'm bright red, so all things considering, there's some suspicion.

"Oh goodness! It was really _all _my fault! I should have- should have- attended to my cauldron!" Hannah chips up, her brown are eyes watery, and her puppy dog pout trembling. Thank Merlin for Hufflepuffs. Those self-sacrificing little buggers always save the day. Er… _your_ day. No one's gonna want to deal with a blubbering Hufflepuff, so they all stick a sock in it.

But then Roxy, sitting there _oh-so-innocently _twirling one of her braids around her pinky, just _has _to ask.

"Well… what about the Quidditch story?"

Albus has the _nerve _to pipe up all smug and condescending: "Which one?"

It's true. These things are _always _happening to me. I could fill a book with my marvelous misadventures. Because… well, I'm a bit of a klutz. After all, they didn't name me Rose _Nymphadora_ Weasley for nothing.


	2. The Recent Quidditch Incident

**A/N: Well, after ****_quite _****a wait, here is Chapter Two of this story. I think I am developing Rose's character nicely, but I don't know about Scorp. :/ Suggestions are VERY welcome. I am also considering a different title. Any suggestions there? Well, I'd LOVE to know what you're thinking when you read this. The only way that can happen is if you lovely readers reviewed! (So review! Thanks) **

It can be pretty awful living in the shadow of war heroes. I mean they're these living legends.

You hear all of these first-hand behind-scenes stories that might as well be fairy tales, because they're _crazy_.

And I mean how many people learn about their parents in school? History of Magic, people. History of Magic. Or how about the moment when you find not Merlin or Morgana… or Albert Einstein or whatever, but your _freaking mother_ in your chocolate frog card? It gets me every time. (Well… alright, you can _really _get sick of it after like, the five thousandth time, but it's something to brag about.)

At first those things are cool. They're amazing! But then that wares off and then BAM! Pressure! You _finally _get to Hogwarts and you get these crazy old professors tripping over their beards to ask you 'Your mother was the brightest witch of her generation, are _you _the brightest witch of _your _generation?'

And people think you _must_ be like Quidditch royalty. I _really flipped_ when they started selling vintage wash 'Weasley is Our King' t-shirts, because shouldn't it just make my freaking day?

Even that's okay if you're like James, and you practically _are_ Quidditch royalty, and you can catch snitches in your butt while you river dance on your broom. Or if you're Hugo then you sleep talk in ancient runes. But what if you're like me and have absolutely _no _skills? What then?

I mean… once a Centaur told me I showed some promise in Xylomancy. I imagine that bringing this up over dinner would go something like this:

Me: Mom, Dad, a centaur -you know the one with the lazy eye- told me I had a real talent for _Xylomancy._

Mom: That's nice dear; when I was your age Albus Dumbledore told me I had a real talent for _everything_.

Dad: Ah, I remember that! When I was your age, Rosie, I was told I would never amount to _anything._ But then I stabbed a hororcrux with Godric Gryffindor's sword, spoke parseltongue to a bathroom sink, won the heart of a genius, won the Second Wizarding War, and became an Auror.

Mom: Oh, Ron! But Rosie, just the other day I was talking to the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he was asking if I knew of any good Xylomancers. Regular clairvoyants are_ so_ unreliable. Wood burning is where it's at!

Me: It's mad! There sure as hell is a lot of demand for Xylomancers these days!

Mom & Dad: Watch your language, young lady!

Hugo: I think I just discovered the ancient rune for the number seven! It's 'my arse'!

And then my parents would be in awe of the freaking genius they conceived for the _rest of their lives_. And I'd go on to become quite possibly the most mediocre professional Xylomancer in all of Wizarding history.

That is _not _something I want my children to have to sit through Professor Binns's mumbling about. Their mother's mediocrity.

Everyone had these ridiculously high expectations for me as I entered my first year at Hogwarts, and I wanted to not only live up to these expectations, but I wanted to exceed these expectations. I've never wanted to _be _my parents, I've always wanted to be _better _than them.

Being a Slytherin isn't about eating baby Muggles or speaking parseltongue. Slytherins have this impossible drive. Sure some of us are pretty pretentious. But it's because we have _so _many insecurities. We have _so _much to prove.

It doesn't help that I'm a complete Klutz. My dad's always stumbling around, making messes, so I know who I get it from, at least. It's probably because I'm so _freaking _tall. But I mean NO one takes the klutzy girl seriously.

So all of this means that by constantly trying to prove myself I consequently make a fool of myself. Take today for example.

On the whole 'Quidditch Royalty' thing… I've never been one for broomsticks. I'm terrified of heights. It doesn't matter much in Slytherin. Quidditch is unladylike, and I don't actually give a shit. It's something sweaty, brutish, pimply boys do. Beat the ever-loving crap out of each other in midair.

I hardly ever go to games. It's just too easy to sneak away and get a head start on homework. Or sleep. Or, whatever the hell you feel like. Of course, this doesn't sit well with my family. They're all die-hard Quidditch junkies (Of course they're all die-hard Gryffindor freaks too, sucks to suck, Rose).

Whenever there's a congregation of eight or more Weasleys the games begin. And this is Christmas, dammit, and we're all at the Burrow, so I guess this means we'll all be playin' Quidditch. Yippe.

_Choose teams. _

"First pick, babe?"

"You'll need it Vickie."

"Psh, I think not. Albus."

"Scorpius."

"Lilly!"

"No fair. You're getting all the Potters. Louis."

"You have Scorpius! Dominique!"

"Where's James?"

"Pissing. Choose."

"Hannah." Bad move. Hannah looks almost as determined not to play as me.

"Fred."

"Red head."

"The other red head."

"Ginger number eight."

"Hugo."

"Lysander."

"The other twin."

"Blah, blah, blah…"

"Where's James?"

"Still in the loo."

"We've got uneven numbers."

"ROSEEE!"

_Don't move. If you stay still they won't see you. _I've been hiding under a shrub. Sometimes they forget you exist and play.

"I think she's up on the porch." _Malfoy. _

"What Teddy?" I ask innocently, peeking up from behind the shrubbery and waving my book in the air. _I was reading. _I would like to _keep _reading.

"You're Vickie's keep-" _Weasley is our king. She can't catch a single thing…_

"Put her as a chaser!" Lilly calls from somewhere far above us, whirring her beater's bat above her head like a baton.

"No!" Albus yells and then he offers me a fake smile. "I mean. No way you can be anything but a Beater. You're great at it."

"We don't _really _need even numbers. How about referee?" Dominique suggests. I scoff.

"I'm Chaser. " I bark, pretty much humiliated. I'll prove them wrong. I'll score the hell out of this Quaffle.

Teddy slides me a broom. It's one of Aunt Ginny's old ones, from her Hollyhead Harpies days. I will do you proud broom. _Proud. _

I mount it and jerk it in the general direction of upward. My stomach lurches. This is going to be one long day.

Albus has the Quaffle. He passes it to… oh dang. He's passing it to me! And there it goes. Past me. Only to fall into Molly's arms. GAH! _Well don't just gape. Chase her down, Chaser! _I spin around and-

The ground is _really _far away. It's churning, blurring colors, and my stomach is churning, too. I curl my toes and grasp the wood so hard that my fingernails dig crescent moons into the cherry finish.

"C'mon Rose!"

"Why do we even let her play?"

"GET THE DAMN QUAFFLE ROSE!"

"Stop yelling at her. She looks like she's gonna fall!" Did Scorpius say that? Or was it Teddy? Hugo? Lilly maybe? _I'm so high up. GET THE QUAFFLE! So high. QUAFFLE! Quaffle…_

On a short spurt of courage or maybe foolishness, I shoot forward. Apparently Molly already scored, and now the ball is in Lorcan's meaty hands. What are the rules of physical contact in Quidditch? Aw, who cares. That Ravenclaw is going down.

My shoulder connects with his ribs and my hands grope for the Quaffle. My fingers slip through the air and my shoulder is pounding with pain. Lorcan looks pityingly on me as I ricochet off him through the air with an 'oof'.

I imagine myself pin wheeling into the dirt and I panic. I scream and I clutch at the broom so hard that some of the wood splinters off. Suddenly it stops. Everything stops. But I really pissed the broom off, and so it becomes determined to rid itself of me.

It bucks and my forehead connects with the splintered wood. _Am I bleeding? _It hurts.

It bucks and I feel my hands begin to slip. _What if my legs slip too? _

It bucks and I try to scream. The sound is feeble, strangled. _Should I jump off? _

"The snitch! Get the snitch Vic!" Lilly?

"Rose! Oh my God, ROSE! SOMEBODY GET ROSE!" Hannah?

A hand snakes around my waist, and suddenly the shaking stops. I'm sitting in front of someone on a different broom- a sleek black one.

"Hold on!" _Scorpius? _

"He's on the snitch, Dom!"

"NO don't Dom! HE HAS ROSE!"

A crack rings out through the frigid air. Scorpius tenses against my back, he jerks the broom around and holds me tighter. Another crack. I open my eyes. _How long had they been shut? _

_"OH NO!" _

"No, no, _no_!"

He leans down against me, practically parallel with the broom and we jet forward. Wordlessly, he extends the arm that had been keeping me from toppling to the ground. I'm not breathing. I hold onto the dark wood and spare a glance over my shoulder. Scorpius grits his teeth and makes a wild grab.

I inhale. We make a shaky descent and all but crash into a pillow of snow. Scorpius looks pale(er than usual), but he's sporting a little smile, and has, struggling in his long fingers, a desperately fluttering golden snitch.

"I did it." I hear him mutter, just once, before everyone starts rushing around, hugging us and apologizing and crying and examining.

"Scorpius, that doesn't look so good."

"No thanks to Dom."

"No it's fine Dom, it was a bad bludger," Scorpius assures with a wavering grin. _Close one there, Dom. Dad would have killed you. _

"Ron would have _killed _us!" Albus cries. Rose dies and her doting father murders the rest of the family. I think that would be appropriate. Scorpius visibly paled at the mention of my dad.

"You're _always_ saving Rose." I don't know who said it. But I pointedly roll my eyes, just at everyone. There's no way I'm going to stand out here in this… _blizzard _and dote overmy freaking knight in shining armor. He doesn't need a peck on the cheek or my undying gratitude, he's getting enough attention from my family.

Besides, I am a _cunning _and _clever _Slytherin and klutzy _girl_ or not, I could have saved myself.


	3. The Sorting Ceremony Incident

**A/N: Sorry for not updating in like... 30 some odd days. That's far too much. But here it is, a little update (I think it's actually one of the longer chapters). I'm trying to develop Scorpius a bit more. Tell me if I'm getting that right, please! And also tell me if I have any awful gramatical errors. I assume someone is searching through this looking for a disclaimer... so nope. I am _still_ not J.K. Rowling. But PLEASE criticize! I need your feedback, elsewise I will not improve. Ever. Thanks for reading!**

I probably shouldn't hate Scorpius Malfoy. But, as per suggestion of my father, eons ago, I darn well do.

As painful as it is for me to admit, he's handsome enough- for an albino. Seriously! His skin is hardly pigmented at all (course it's never blemished at all, either) … and his hair is practically white too! And he always makes a mess out of it- his hair. Those stupid Gryffindor boys _all_ have tousled hair. They've probably perfected their own charm.

Oh! His eyes- they're this unnatural steely color. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they're implants… or another stupid beauty charm. His lips are thin, and his chin's too pointy. He's one of the only guys in the school who's taller than me. Which is _not _some sort of positive. It just means he's an extraordinarily tall freak of nature.

And… sometimes… he's nice. I mean, mostly it's just forced courtesy. But he is quite… chivalrous. As if I give a- well… he's not like that _all_ the time, just when people are watching. He's the kind of guy that'll smack your butt… or stare too long at your cleavage and then get the door for you, or pick up the tab… or catch you when you fall. So basically he's a two-faced pervert… or maybe just a boy.

"I mean, it was pretty great."

"Amazing!"

"It was totally wizard!" Lily exclaims, throwing her onyx locks over her shoulder, and looking quite proud of herself for slipping that stupid Muggle phrase into this conversation. Seriously… wizards don't say 'wizard'. Like, ever.

"I'm sure Scorpius is exhausted. And no more Quidditch," my mum, Merlin love her, says.

"But _Mum- _Scorp was going to tell us about that Slytherin party he and Albus crashed," Hugo whined.

"Honestly, Hugo. Let the boy rest."

Everyone starts heading out. Show's over. Now everyone's off to… finish food… pull pranks… and talk about embarrassing stories from their pasts that hopefully don't involve Malfoy and I. I'm standing in the corner of my room, watching people file out, and my eyes flicker to a certain blond demon. (Who quickly averts his eyes- he was _so _glaring at me.)

_Wait. _

"Where'll I sleep tonight!?" I holler out of the room.

"We'll work something out," Mum sighs. And Scorpius Malfoy quietly pats the space next to him in my bed and _winks. _I _hate _that blasted wink. Good thing I'm a Slytherin, else I'd feel a teensy bit of remorse for tossing a paper weight at an invalid. (Who I will admit, took the blow like a man.)

Downstairs Albus and a decent sized flock of my cousins were recounting the story of their Sortings. I hovered in the doorway, listening in. My Sorting story is… well… not only was it disappointing, it was also hugely traumatic. In fact, my first day at Hogwarts was probably the worst day of my entire life. _Thinking_ about it makes me queasy.

I was completely in shock in the car and at the train station. My senses were literally dulled. I remember someone saying something about Seating Little Morpius on 'every test', and I'm pretty sure I was hugged a few times, oh and my father threatened to disown me, that really helped me calm down. And after that love fest, none of my good for nothing cousins would let Albus and I share their compartments. So that was grand. Albus was a complete nervous wreck, and I was a vegetable and all we wanted was a place to curl up and die.

And what do you know? There's a near-empty compartment that everyone's avoiding like it's Pandora's Box and full to the brim with Bubonic Plague vapors. And who's inside, but some pathetic little blond first year, playing exploding snaps… with himself.

So I march right in and trip through the door. I scare the living daylights out of the boy, and faceplant in a tower of violent playing cards. Which hurts. So bad. Albus is so jittery that he starts giggling hysterically. But the boy starts freaking out.

"Are you alright? Are you alright? I'm so sorry!"

Am I ALRIGHT? No. I'm pretty sure I still have a scar from where a playing card exploded on my stomach. My ego hurts too. Even after so long.

And yeah, I'm a klutz. It's not the kids fault. But I feel like everyone on the train must be watching and laughing, and I know that this boy must think I'm a fool… so I stand up, brush myself off, and say…

"I'm sitting here, and I don't care what you think." I care what people think, I care far too much.

No one was sitting with Malfoy, because they were probably too afraid of catching the Deatheater by close contact. So I mean, he had it worse that first day.

Hagrid had to literally force a couple of kids to sit in the same boat as Malfoy, which had to have been more embarrassing than tripping like an idiot. And during the Sorting Ceremony, when after much deliberation the hat said "Gryffindor" Albus was the only one to clap. Everyone was too shocked, and Albus was so happy to have been put in Gryffindor it was a wonder he wasn't doing somersaults.

Meanwhile, the alphabet reached 'W', and I slipped that arsehat on and without offering me some sort of psychic reasoning it just shouted, "Slytherin"… and behold. Silence again. Only _I _fell off the stool, and collapsed against the Hufflepuff table. And then I tripped over to the Slytherin table and puked on Verona Nott.

The headmistress was watching… looking a little shocked, like everyone else… so it was lovely cousin Vicky that jumped up from the ranks of ravenclaws, arm outstretched, and volunteered to take me to Madame Pomfrey. (Now of course, after a career that spanned about ten centuries, we have another decrepit nurse, Madame Christenson… when she keels Victoire wants a position at Hogwarts.)

But anyway, dutiful cousin, Victoire escorts me to the nurse, she even gave me her fancy French handbag to puke into. That is love, there. She talked about how Teddy kissed her at the Train station. She gushed that it was like something from a Muggle Movie.

"And Teddy looks _so adorable_ when his nose is upturned a little. And he had _dimples, _Rosie, _dimples_. And little golden freckles! Just for me! _Oh Rose_, he _knows _I love it when he has freckles. Our first kiss! Can you believe it?"

I nodded at appropriate times, and sobbed silently.

"You can borrow Helium, if you'd like." Helium was Victoire's Great Horned Owl, named after a gas in the Muggle World that made things takes Muggle Studies _very_ seriously. But, anyways, this was great. I was scared out of my mind that everyone would get to Mum and Dad before I did. I could have sworn Lucy was already writing at the dinner table. Something that probably went like this:

Dear Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ronald,

I am sorry to say, but today our family has been disgraced, our name soiled. I will send you the proper paperwork, because you will need to seriously consider disowning your only daughter. Yes, lovely family, Rose Nymphadora Weasley has gone where no Weasley has ever been before. Green. And not in an ecological sense, either. Rose Weasley is a SLYTHERIN! Anyway, just sign on the dotted lines, and pretty soon her entire existence will be no more than a terrible memory. Perhaps the Malfoys can adopt her. She and their offspring were getting cozy over a game of Exploding Snaps, or so I heard.

With ever _so _so much love,

Lucy Little-whiney-stupid-manipulative-ughIhateher-bitch Weasley

But Victoire offered me her owl, so I could write and describe this… mix-up, before any one of my cousins could say _Abra Kadavara. _

Madame Pomfrey cleared me. She couldn't make the sorting ceremony because a Magic Carpet-full of black market Middle Eastern Herbs arrived. Haha, that'd be crazy. No, an entire congregation of doxies invaded the store cupboards. She gave me a funny little losange that tasted like peppermint and sent me on my way.

"So word around the Ravenclaw table was that the Slytherin passcode this month is _Horocrux," _Victoire said with a wink. "If they ask, come up with something clever. I'm sure you've got it in you."

"There's been a mistake. I _can't _be a Slytherin. They'll kill me. They will. You will be the last Weasley to see me alive."

"Buck up Rose."

The Slytherin dungeons are the most beautiful part of Hogwarts. They beat spindly towers and stuffy kitchens by a long shot. Everything is bathed in green, and all of the furniture is sleek black leather. We have a _chandelier_ made of _basilisk _fangs. I mean, sure the place oozes dark magic, but it also oozes class. And the best part? Wrap around windows, through all of the dorm rooms and along one side of the common room show the lake. So if you watch long enough you'll see a Mermaid (scary little beasts) or , c'mon this takes the cake: The Giant Squid. And it is so much bigger and more terrifying when you wake up in the middle of the night and catch it staring at you.

But anyway, I walked into the room and the first person to run up and accost me was Verona Nott.

"Your bed is next to mine, kay Rose? Feeling better?"

She acted like I caught the stomach bug, not like I'd been so freaked out by my ambition being called to light in front of my family that I barfed all over her new robes. But Verona always says, "Family is forever, and at Hogwarts, your house is your family. House loyalty, it's all that really matters." That was her excuse for hexing Gryffindor Scumbucket, Romulus Jordan, after he dumped Ingary Zabini.

And I got a tour from the Heads, and I also got a lot of forced smiles, but they were only forced because people were worried I'd upchuck on them.

I mean, did I get crap from Gryffindors about my whole 'Sorting Incident'? Yep. But I had the support of the most unsupportive group people in all of Hogwarts. Because they knew I was like them, and they knew I had something to offer them.

So… who had it worse, _really_?


	4. The Patronus Incident

**AN/ Greetings. My has it been a long time. Apologies. School is so close to being out! I had a nice long day to get this finished up. I bet it's chock-full of grammar mistakes and generally unpleasing things. You can always point those out and I will fix it up. Thank you all for reading and your wonderful comments. Seriously you're all pretty great. Tell me if I got Rose's voice right in this one, tell me everything basically. I hope you guys don't mind the short chapters, I just want them to be good. I hope to update a bunch this summer (Probably irregularly). PS: I am still not Rowling. :(**

"Oi, it's Rose. Care to tell your story? Her first day at Hogwarts was puke. Terrible, awful. barfy. _Barfy." _Albus proceeded to pantomime my infamous projectile vomiting. I groan. _Brush it off Rose…_ you are more than aware that Molly is waiting with bated breath for you to lose your cool.

Dear Diary,

Rose Nymphadora Weasley continues to disappoint me and my family. It was brought to light once again that during her betrayal of the House of Gryffindor she vomited all over the Slytherins. All of them. There wasn't an inch of clean table or warm face. Essentially this means that Ms. Nymphadora is a horrible dual-turncoat. Azcaban is the only option, really. And while we were having a harmless laugh at her expense she snapped at the good son of the boy who lived, my faaavvvouuurritttee cousin. Albus Severus Potter. Oh Rose, how I detest you.

Horrendously snooty and bitchy as always,

Smelly Melly Molly

"Albus, you were sobbing so pitifully on the train people were considering calling you, 'The Boy Who Cried'." Albus continued, unfazed.

"Poor Verona, I bet it took weeks to get all that out of her greasy ickle Slytherin hair." Check and Mate. Albus brought up Verona.

Verona Nott embodies Slytherin values. She comes from a long line of cold-hearted witches who will do whatever it takes to get ahead even if that means Dark Magic and general bitchiness. And Verona is my very best friend in the whole of the world. She's hardly like me. She's petite with a glossy black bob and dark eyes and somehow she commands more attention. I'm a ginger giant. But by association you earn respect as Verona's friend, she's just too cool. And I happen to know for a fact that she's caught the eye of at least one Gryffindork.

"Don't think I didn't catch you and Malfoy mooning over her Slytherin hair." Albus cracks a sly smile.

"What are you going on about, Rose? You're mad."

Uncle Harry, Dad, and some of the other Aurorers pop in every once-in-a-while to give Defense Against the Dark Arts Lessons. They're normally pretty… wizard. (Oh Merlin. I'm becoming my cousin). But generally just for kicks. When we all crash in the common room afterwards everyone'll joke about how they've got things scarier than you-know-who on their vanities in the bathrooms and buried in their trunks. We have a bloody. Basillisk. Chandelier. 'Nuff said.

Anyways, last semester, Uncle Harry dropped by for two periods. This meant joint lessons with the Gryffindors. Yippee. He had cleared out the room and told us to pair up and spread out to the far corners. Then his wispy white stag burst from his wand and trotted around the room scaring the piss out of some, leaving others awestruck, and reducing Albus and I to giggles. His dad would send the buck out to tell us knock-knock jokes. It's bloody hilarious. I mean you're expecting the thing to whinny or something and it starts chatting you up like Uncle Harry.

Verona and I were near one of Professor Hillburth's motivational posters, can't remember if it was the one with the cat animagus hanging onto a tree limb or the rising phoenix. Either one. We were scribbling down halfway incoherent notes when I heard a chuckle. Not four feet from us stood Ferret-Face and The Boy Who Trolled Potions- I mean Malfoy and Potter- fine, for the purpose of this flashback I will call them Scorpius and Albus. But don't expect me getting all 'Scorp' and 'All' on you. Anyway, there they stood, Albus was chortling and Malfoy (I can't keep up the three syllable crap) was flushing beet red. Albus' grin grew when he caught me staring. He leaned into whisper something to Malfoy who glared pretty darn malevolently at his best friend. That was a Slytherin glare. And never did Scorpius look hotter- I mean. Nope, let's not go there. Ew. Gross. On with the flashback.

I straightened up. Smoothed my skirt. Held my head a little higher. They were laughing at _me_. Not that unusual, but that must mean I did something stupid this morning. A brief glance down assured me that my shirt was on the forward and no buttons had bursted. My socks matched. My shoes were on the right feet. My hair wasn't _that _frizzy. Alright. It was frizzy. I struggled to smooth it down a bit. Then I shot just as malevolent and Slytheriny a glower at them. Malfoy looked sheepish.

"I think she caught you staring," Albus singsonged. Malfoy looked terrified.

"Are they talking about you?" Verona asked, looking ready to magically castrate them. It snapped into place. So. Malfoy had a crush on Verona.

"I think they're talking about you." I muttered and Verona started fuming.

"I'll kill them."

"No. Not like that. I think you have an admirer." Verona tried not to look flattered, but compliments are her downfall, a smug smile flickered over her lips.

"Poor boy wants what he can't have," she said.

Harry called us all to attention and got us to start thinking of our fondest memories. Oh Uncle Harry.

So Verona and I brainstormed for a moment, 'happiest memories'. Don't let my ambition deceive you. I have a boatload of good memories. For my birthday one year Verona, Nona, and ten of my closest friends and I snuck out of Hogwarts. Our head of house let us play hooky all day long. We went to Hogsmeade and guzzled Butterbeer, went shopping. Ah, it was great. I love my friends. And I concentrated on that one. _Expecto Patronum. _

Uncle Harry wasn't expecting anything corporeal, maybe a little white flicker. A half-mirage. Anything really. But what scuttled out of my wand was very, very clear, and pretty terrifying.

Verona and I screamed. It was so big. I was pretty convinced I'd die. It was going to kill us. Screw protecting me. Screw my happy memories. It scurried closer on all of those legs. Those beady eyes. I threw my wand to the ground, where it sent up a shower of sparks and send the evil beast flickering away into wisps of smoke. I breathed a sigh of relief. That all happened it probably less than two seconds.

"Merlin Rose! That was corporeal!" Uncle Harry exclaimed, sounding much too much like his daughter.

"I missed it!"

"Cast it again!"

I nodded my head silently. No way was I ever going to willingly summon that thing. I was suddenly aware of Verona's perfectly manicured nails digging into my arm.

"Ouch, Verona!"

"What was it?"

"C'mon Rose."

"I'll give you my pudding." _Are we first years? Do you think I really want your pudding? Do you, Nox? _

"What. Was. That?" Verona asked between her teeth.

"Um…"

"Cast it again." _Fine. Alright already._ I fumbled on the floor trying to scoop up my wand, but my hands were trembling and my head was spinning. A pale hand snaked down and picked it up, his fingers brushed mind as he tried to slip it into my palm. I snatched it away from Malfoy and tried to hold it steady. _Happy memories. Happy memories. _Butterbeer. My favorite book. My friends. My cat.

"I… I can't do it."

"Not a problem Rose," Harry assured me. "But I didn't get a very good look. What was it?"

"I didn't get a good look… either. It was big. A bug, I think, or a lizard."

"We'll be continuing this exercise all week. By the end you might even have a corporeal patronus like Rose!"

Admitting what my patronus is 'd be like sniffing a love potion and saying it smells like some guy's fancy hand-brewed cologne. But that wasn't the reasoning behind it. It wasn't like this guy-person made me feel warm and bubbly or kept me safe or anything like that. This animal just happens to reflect…my violent emotions. That's it.

While we walked to Divination (which I took purely to piss my mum off) Verona said it out loud.

"Rose… your patronus… was a scorpion."

New happy memories: Skipping Defense for the rest of the week and teaching my best friend how to cast her own potentially embarrassing patronus by the lake. My patronus didn't mean anything.

"Don't think I didn't catch Malfoy staring at Verona in Defense."

"And I know what your Patronus is. Care to share _that one,_ Rose?" Albus snickered. It didn't mean anything.


End file.
